


Little Victories

by exordice



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In a later chapter, Minor Violence, based on the character of the reader in my gladion fic, guzma is YA BOI, i took that theory and ran with it okay, id say like 5 months? possibly?, in the past. you can probably guess who with, lillie and lusamine only appear in mentions, listen idk, might as well put it here, not rlly that graphic but ya know, protag is gonna basically be an oc as well lol, reader is a misanthrope, shes not even gonna be in this that much so, this takes place after the main game, ur not the protag btw. u are reader, which is about 3 months after finishing the sidequests with looker and anabel in my timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exordice/pseuds/exordice
Summary: It's been about a year since you moved to Alola.You bought a house that was as far away from everyone as you could get. You have no desire to make any friends or be part of some little community. People will always disappoint in the end.Unfortunately, that means you do literally live on top of a mountain.But hey, at least no one comes to bother you. Like there's gonna be anyone who wants to wander around a cold and snowy mountaintop. Ridiculous.Well, at least that's what you thought. Right up until you found someone injured, unconscious and half-buried in the snow.This can't end well.





	1. White Snow, White Hair, White Lies

**Author's Note:**

> ITS A FIC ABOUT YA BOY GUZMA!!!!
> 
> i fucking love him okay. i cant help myself. if anyone from my other fic is reading this, don't worry, this is more of a side project for now. which means this one is not the focus but i just had to start it after playing sun. yes i bought both the games okay. can't wait for the new ones.
> 
> anyhow yeah. you should be warned reader is her own character, like with my other fic. some people will like it, some won't and that's fine cause we all have differences in what we like. for example i like writing in second person more than first. 
> 
> i had so many tags already y'all so look. it's gonna be sweary. this is not for kiddies. there may be eventual sin cause let's be real am i gonna write a fic about my fave boi and not include sin? i think not. there's gonna be alcohol at some points as well so if thats a sensitive thing might wanna watch out. also some serious self-worth issues with ya boi. obviously lol cause i can't write anyone who's 100% happy and cool
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!!!

You were supposed to go get some supplies from town. That's how this day was meant to go. Get down Lanakila, get to Malie, get back home. Ignore everyone you can and stick to the paths no one uses. Stay away from that damned Pokemon League they constructed. You wish they'd picked a different place, the reason you chose to live on this stupid mountain in the first place was the isolation. Now you don't even have that.  
  
But things do not always go the way we wish they would.  
  
At first, you think you're imagining it. Hallucinating from the cold maybe. Or a psychic pokemon might be fucking with you.  
  
No, that really is someone laying face down in the cold snow. Better yet, there's red stains around them. Blood, if you were to guess.  
  
You shouldn't get involved. This isn't your business, or your problem. This person could be dangerous. They could be a murderer for all you know.  
  
They could also die.  
  
You detest the fact you still have empathy. It makes the whole 'hating the world' thing harder than it needs to be. You gave up on humanity a long time ago, so why,  _why_  do you still feel the urge to help them?  
  
With a groan, you abandon your plans. You can wait a couple more days before things get dire. You like to stockpile in case a snowstorm starts up all of sudden. Never know what might happen.  
  
It would definitely be easier to move them if you owned any pokemon. Unfortunately, you don't. So there's that. At least living alone has made you strong, both mentally and physically. You can't allow yourself to rely on other people. Not ever again.  
  
You bend down and start to dig at the snow that covers them. They obviously haven't been there too long, otherwise they'd be deeper in. Their skin is worryingly cold though. Are they even still alive? You check the pulse.  
  
Weak, but there. Not for much longer if you don't hurry up.  
  
It takes a while to make sure you can turn them over. You do so carefully—you don't want to make any wounds even worse—and attempt to hoist them up. Now they're out of the snow, you notice the stark white hair. It's pretty striking, but now's not the time to be admiring their looks.  
  
They're pretty heavy, and taller than you are. Thankfully, your house isn't too far away. You wouldn't make it otherwise.  
  
As you trudge through the snow, keeping as steady a pace as you can, your mind begins to tell you what a shit idea this is.  
  
**_This person is trouble_** it whispers.  ** _They're going to fuck up your life_.**  
  
_Maybe. But I can't just leave someone to die on a 'maybe'._  
  
**_Your funeral_.**  
  
_Yeah. Maybe._  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**  
  
  
Pain. That's all he can feel. Pain.  
  
It shoots through his entire body, but it's worst around his stomach and back.  
  
The world is dark and black. A void of nothingness. Like his shitty, empty life. He would laugh if he could. But even though his lips open, nothing comes out. Just a breath.  
  
Breathe. He needs to breathe. In and out. Deeply and slowly. It hurts. His throat feels dry, like he hasn't had a drink in ages. But that can't be right because he was just at Plumes place—  
  
No wait, that's wrong. He was... cold. He went up the mountain. The one where that shitty league Kukui built is.  
  
He's missing something. He twists his body slightly, groaning as the pain pulls at every fibre of his being. Eyes, he has eyes. Open them.  _Open them, dipshit_.  
  
It feels like they're glued together. But, with great effort, he manages to pull the lids apart. Wherever he is, it isn't too bright. He's grateful for that 'cause his head already hurts enough.  
  
_Where am I?_  
  
The question repeats in his mind as he takes in his surroundings. A plain-looking bedroom, with black curtains drawn together, and a beside lamp filling the room with it's soft yellow glow. The walls are some kind of beige colour, and there's a bookshelf. Not much else.  
  
With another groan, he pulls himself up into a sitting position. His stomach clenches, and a hiss escapes his mouth. It fucking  **hurts**.  
  
Out of instinct, he presses a hand against where the pain seems to be, and flinches in shock.  
  
He's shirtless. But there's cloth. It's tied around his waist. Bandages?  
  
Why would he need those? And why does it hurt so much?  
  
As he examines it, he notices there's a small stain of red on the cloth. Blood?  
  
That explains the bandages. It does not explain how they got there, or where he is. His mind and heart race wildly. Was he kidnapped? Who would do that? Why's he so beat up?  
  
Beat up... Oh. Oh  _fuck_. He remembers.   
  
Just as he's beginning to get a grip on his memories and emotions, the door opens. His whole body tenses, ready to fight if needs be. Not that he can do jack shit in his condition.  
  
And then you walk in.  
  
You both stare at each other in shock and slight suspicion. There's a long silence as you evaluate one another. His hand is still clutching his stomach, pressing on the wound to try and relieve the pain.  
  
Your eyes flick over him in an examining manner. It makes him feel uneasy. Like he's at the doctors.  
  
"So-"  
  
"Who-"  
  
The both of you speak at once, then pause as you realise this fact. There's a heavy awkwardness in the air. If this were a cheesy rom-com, you'd both laugh and relieve the tension. But it's not.  
  
You clear your throat, as if to indicate you want to go first. He doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, but gives a small nod as if to continue.  
  
"You're awake." Your voice is measured and even. "That's... good."  
  
"...yeah." Is all the reply he gives. His voice cracks a little, due to the dryness in his throat.  
  
"Do you need a drink?"  
  
He says nothing, but nods. You leave the room and come back only a moment later with a glass of water.  
  
You place it on the bedside table by the lamp, and back away from him. You're treating him like a wounded animal, and it's kinda pissing him off. But it makes sense. He is one, in a lot of ways.  
  
He downs it in under ten seconds. Fuck, it's good. He licks his lips, relaxing a little. The silence returns and his eyes return to you.  
  
"Who are you anyways?"  
  
The fact he speaks catches you off-guard, but your look of surprise turns to one of faint irritation pretty quickly.  
  
"I think I'm the one who should be asking that. You are the stranger in my house, after all."  
  
"Hey, I didn't ask to be here, lady." His eyes narrow, and he scoots forward on the bed.  
  
"Oh, silly me, I just _assumed_ you would want to live." You snort, folding your arms across your chest and leaning against the door-frame. "I should've just left you to die from hypothermia or blood loss then."  
  
He clenches his jaw, and grinds his teeth. Partly because of your tone, partly because he knows you're right and he  **hates** that.  
  
"Yeah, well, maybe you shoulda'." He grunts, tearing his eyes away from yours to look at the wall. There's a small picture frame hanging up, but no picture in it. Weird.  
  
He hears you let out a bark of a laugh. "That's some way of saying 'hey, thanks for saving my life!'."  
  
"What, you did it just ta' get thanked?" Gray eyes are back on yours. "You some sorta' needy little fuck or whatever?" He sneers, anger getting the better of him. He knows he shouldn't let it, but he doesn't care. It's hard to care about anything right now.  
  
You don't back down. It's then that he realises what the weight of what you said before. You don't know who he is.  
  
_She doesn't know who I am._  
  
The thought has his jaw literally dropping open. It's not like he'd be hard to identify. Bleached white hair with a black undercut, baggy eyes, tall with a shifty look about him. Not many who look like that.  
  
"Y-You..."  
  
His change of disposition makes you raise an eyebrow. Hell, he'd be pretty confused too.  
  
"You're sayin'... ya don't know who I am?"  
  
You tilt your head, giving him the most quizzical look he's ever seen.  
  
"No...? Why would I?"  
  
"What're you, a hermit or somethin'?" The words come out before he can even stop them. But it doesn't make any sense.  _You_ don't make any sense.  
  
You roll your eyes.  
  
"Yes, if you'd like. I suppose I am a hermit. What, are you famous? A... hip-hop star, or something?"  
  
That makes him laugh. He immediately regrets it. The pain comes back in full force, and he doubles over, almost falling off the bed. You rush to his side, and steady him with a hand on his arm. The contact makes him tense up once again, even though you let go after only a second.  
  
"What the fuck made ya think that?"  
  
"Your clothes." You deadpan. "The style is reminiscent of someone trying to look more important than they think they are."  
  
Ouch.  
  
"Oh, great, now you're criticising my fashion choices." He grumbles.  
  
"I'm not criticising anything." You shake your head. "I couldn't care less what you wear. I just say what I see, that's all."  
  
"Yeah? Well. The name's Guzma." It's out there. Even if you don't recognise him by looks, the name's a dead giveaway.   
  
"Never heard of a name like that before."  
  
"What?"  
  
He's so genuinely surprised by this revelation, that his jaw drops open again.  
  
"It's as you said. I'm a hermit. Or, well, a recluse. I don't keep in touch with the outside world." You shrug nonchalantly, baffling him further. "Sorry Mr. Famous, but I have no idea who you are."  
  
You really don't know. Not about him, or maybe even about Team Skull. He should probably tell you. It's only fair.  
  
"I mean, I do live on a mountaintop."  
  
Mountaintop? Oh. Mountaintop. Right, he was on the mountain when...  
  
His hand goes back to his stomach, rubbing over the bandages. Your eyes follow it.  
  
"That needs to be changed."  
  
"Huh?" He gives you a blank look.  
  
"To prevent infection. I couldn't exactly stitch up the wound, but it wasn't too deep anyway. Lucky for you. Otherwise you'd have bled out way before I found you."  
  
He winces at that thought. For all his ungrateful ass said earlier, he really doesn't fancy the idea of dying yet. He's still got shit to do. Like drink until he blacks out and forgets the pain.  
  
"Yeah, well...  thanks." He mumbles the last word as quietly as possible.  
  
"Pardon?" You say. One look at your shitty little smirk is all it takes to know you fucking heard him.  
  
He takes a deep breath. No getting angry, not this time.  
  
"I said. Thanks."  
  
He gets it out, just barely, and through gritted teeth.  
  
"You're welcome. I won't charge for the bed either."  
  
The blank look returns.  
  
"This house only has one bedroom. I thought it was better for you to sleep in here than on the couch. Not that you'd fit on it."  
  
Right. He is pretty tall. A small wave of guilt washes over him as he realises he's put you out of your own bed. And who knows for how long? The wave grows bigger as he mentally berates himself for being such a shitty person. Fuck, he always fucks up and ruins other people's lives and—  
  
His hands are tangled in his hair before he knows what he's doing. It hurts to stretch out, but that's the last thing on his mind.  
  
But before he can even get one word of what's quickly becoming his catchphrase out, he feels you pull his hands away and put them back in his lap.  
  
"Are you trying to open your wound, idiot?!"  
  
Your tone is much harsher than before, and it makes him flinch. Anger at himself fizzles into a mixture of guilt and fear.  _Why are you afraid of her, you dumb ass? You could take her on no problem._  
  
It's not that and he knows it. It's just, for a moment there, your voice sounded like... like _hers_. That's probably what got him to stop so easily. Anyone else might've gotten hurt if they tried to stop him in one of his fits of rage.  
  
You're sitting on the bed by his legs now. He can't read your face. It's annoying, 'cause you seem to be able to see right through him.  
  
"Listen. This is not a situation that happens often. I mean, honestly, it's like something out of some romance book." The derisive chuckle you give tells him you're not a fan of that particular genre. "But we're here now, so we need to deal with it. I'm going to change your bandages, neither of us is going to like it, and then I'm making dinner. Okay?"  
  
The way you say it makes it seem like there's no room for arguments, so he just nods.  
  
"Good."  
  
You get up from the bed, and start to make your way out of the room.   
  
It's then he realises he doesn't even know your name.  
  
"Hey, wait, ya weirdo!"  
  
That slips out of it's own accord. For a moment the fear comes back. If he'd ever called  _her_ that she would have fucking killed him.  
  
But you just turn around, looking slightly annoyed, hands on your hips.  
  
"Yes, Guzma?"  
  
He swallows. Whoa. Hearing his name out loud, said without any vehemence or distaste is... new.  
  
"Uh... y-you ain't told me what yer called."  
  
Your annoyance fades into a slightly embarrassed look, apparently just realising this for yourself. You tell him your name.  
  
"Huh. That so?" The man tilts his head in consideration. "Eh, I like weirdo better." A crooked grin splits across his face.  
  
Much to his surprise, you don't rebuke him or even scoff or anything. In fact, he's at least 80% sure he saw your lips quirk into a small smile for a moment there. Could be his mind making it up, but he's never been that imaginative.  
  
"Suit yourself." You say drily, as you turn back around to head into the other room.  
  
_Heh_ _._ He thinks.  _Maybe I can put off tellin' her about the team for just a bit longer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE STUPID TITLE IDK WHAT ELSE TO CALL THIS BUT LANAKILA MEANS VICTORY SO YA KNOW. if anyone reads these i'll be surprised. any the whole POV switch to guzma is New and Hard so sorry if it seems a little out of place. i'll try to get better.
> 
> also the o*O*o is totally meant to be like snow cause i'm a real cheesy little fuck. expect cliches in this okay. both subverted and not. hope y'all ready for a journey to bonding with a socially inept asshole town. cause that's literally the both of them lmao.


	2. Learning Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i enjoy writing from guzmas perspective even though its hard to know when to switch. i guess ill only get better with experience!! or ya know ill remain as shit as ever i guess but hey ho. thanks for all the kudos and things its so nice!!! always surprised people wanna read my writing tbh
> 
> juuuust in case ur wondering this one wont be updated super often but it should be a couple times a month still. i think. listen i'm not a person who has any semblance of a life schedule so ya know its hard to when ill be able to write combined with not being busy doing stupid stuff like keeping my relationships alive. inane shit ya know.
> 
> have fun!!!
> 
> EDIT: I HAVE ZERO IDEA WHY THE GODDAMN NOTES FROM THE LAST PAGE ARE ON THIS PAGE AS WELL JUST IGNORE PLS LOL. if u dont see them then i guess its just me??? somehow??? WHATEVER

Changing his bandages is as awkward as it should be. He clearly doesn't like you touching him, especially in a rather intimate area. But he'll have to deal with it. You're not having him die and waste your supplies.  
  
When you clean out the wound, you notice how he goes to grip your arm. He's still wary. Understandable, given his injuries. But he manages to hold himself back when your eyes snap to his in a warning. Which is encouraging. Poor-tempered, but not uncontrollable.   
  
You suppose in the end you  _were_ the one who chose to help him. You're as much of a stranger to him as he is to you. But he could stand to be a little more courteous. He still refuses to call you anything but 'weirdo'. Irritating, but too petty to bother commenting on. Plus you don't want him to see he gets under your skin. And no, it's **not** because it's sort of nice to be nicknamed. It's annoying. That's all.  
  
As you finish wrapping the bandage around his stomach and pinning it in place, you go and get his actual clothes. You obviously had to remove them as they were wet from the melted snow and decided to wash them as well. They were a little grimy to be honest. You didn't feel it would be a good idea to put him in them if they were still dirty.  
  
Didn't do his underwear though because fuck that. You just feel lucky he wears baggy boxers and not briefs or something. He's going to need a change eventually though, and you're dreading having to go shopping for clothes. People always try to talk to you about things and it's not fun. You can't expect the man to wander around in gross underwear for a week. Which is the period at which your selflessness will end because that wound is not so serious as to require any more of your precious time or energy.  
  
He grumbles out a 'thanks' and you don't push it this time. He seems to have a hard time showing gratitude or politeness in general. It's interesting.  
  
You leave him to change into his shirt and pants, and go into your kitchen. The house is small which isn't surprising given it was cheap. But it's more than sufficient for one person. A bungalow with one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and living space. No dining room which you would have no need of. Or, well, you wouldn't usually. You don't know if the both of you will fit on the couch as you eat.  
  
"Hey, do you have any allergies?" You call out.  
  
"None that I know 'bout." Comes a muffled reply. Must be halfway through putting on the shirt.  
  
Well, let's hope you don't kill your first ever house-guest.  
  
You shrug and get started on making vegetable stir fry. It's simple enough, doesn't take too long and you can use up the fresh ingredients you intend to replace soon. Shortly after, you hear heavy footsteps. The guy really knows how to announce his presence.  
  
"S'that shit?" He says, clearly meaning your cooking.  
  
"I'm making a bomb to kill us both obviously." You deadpan. "It's dinner is what it is, and if you don't like it then tough. It's edible and won't kill you so either eat it or starve."  
  
"There's like, green shit in it."  
  
"An astute observation." You shake your head. "That is called broccoli."  
  
He's closer now, you can feel him looming over you. You're not even short. He's just a tall bastard.  
  
"Why's it there? What  _is_ this?"  
  
You turn your face to the side, watching him.  
  
"You've never had stir fry before?"  
  
His face falls for a moment, then goes back to being gruffly stoic.  
  
"'Course I have. Just. Not like that."  
  
Lying? Why? Possible motive could be embarrassment. Seems like a silly thing to lie about though.  
  
"It's fine if you haven't. I have no reason to care."  
  
That came out harsher than you thought. Which is exactly why you choose to live alone, rather than suffer through conversations with people who do not understand that you aren't being rude on purpose.  
  
Guzma eyes you, carefully. He's trying to examine you like you do to him. Cute.  
  
"Do I really seem so suspicious?"  
  
He appears a little agitated at having been caught. His face flushes a soft pink, and he scowls and turns away to examine your surroundings.  
  
"'Scuse me for bein' uncomfortable in a place I ain't never seen before, with someone I don't know."  
  
You bite your tongue and refrain from commenting on his double negative. People tend to dislike that. It's not as if you really care, language is defined by usage after all. You remind yourself he isn't  _wrong_ per se, it's just an uncommon way of speaking.  
  
"Yes, well, I am also uncomfortable. So there. That makes two of us." People are less uneasy with one another when they have something in common. You think. Most of your experience comes from ready books about socialisation.  
  
You focus on finishing cooking dinner and then suddenly remember something important.  
  
"Oh. In case you are wondering about your pokemon, they are safe."  
  
It's actually possible to hear how fast he whips around.  
  
"Shit! I can't believe I forgot about the crew!"  
  
Well, it's clear he cares about them. His tone of voice is panicked.  
  
"As I said, they are safe. I mean, I think." You fidget nervously. "I only found five pokeballs. Is that all you had?"  
  
He breathes out a sigh of relief.  
  
"Yeah, that's my crew." Interesting word he uses. Not 'team'. "Thank fuck for that. Ain't sure what I'd do if I lost any of 'em."  
  
You stir the ingredients in the pan, adding some soy sauce and hum in thought.  
  
"You appear to favour bug pokemon."  
  
You can feel his eyes burning into your the back of your head.  
  
"How'd ya—"  
  
"I let one out." It had been a good idea at the time. Not so good when a gigantic bug-thing appeared out of nowhere. It had about half a second to look vaguely confused before you put it back in. "I assume anyone who possesses a Golisopod must like that particular type."  
  
"Hah, ya let Podders out?" The amusement in his tone is palpable. "Give ya a good scare, did he?"   
  
"I was shaking in my boots." You say sarcastically. It's not like bug pokemon specifically make you uncomfortable. You're just not used to being around  _any_ kind of pokemon.  
  
"He has that effect on some people."  
  
This is better. Joking is better, you can deal with joking.  
  
You let out a soft huff of laughter, and finish up dinner. It's weird to have to serve more than one bowl. It's a good thing you're fairly organised, or else you might be not have had two clean ones.  
  
You hand Guzma one bowl and a fork, then make your way to the couch. It's only just across from the kitchen, and you spend most of your time there. Either eating or watching whatever channels you can get up here. You were surprised this place had plumbing and electricity to begin with, as dodgy as it is.  
  
He appears to follow your lead, and sits on the other end of the settee, trying to keep as much distance as he can.  
  
It doesn't really work given the fact he has to spread his legs out so far your thighs are almost touching. It's pretty low to the floor you guess, you never noticed. His legs are long and so have to be wide apart.  
  
Purposefully avoiding eye contact, you reach for the remote and switch the TV on. The picture's a little fuzzy, but you make do. You change channels until you get to a news station.  
  
You start to eat your dinner—the both of you—in silence. You're not sure if it's better or worse than awkward small talk. The news is pretty boring, but you are not about to get into a fight over what to watch with him. To his credit, he hasn't said anything.  
  
"I—"  
  
"How—"  
  
It seems like this is becoming a recurring thing. Breaking the silence at the same time.  
  
"You first." He grumbles.  
  
"Right. I just wanted to ask if the food is okay?" He raises an eyebrow, causing you to quickly add. "Not that I care, or anything." That definitely does not sound like you care a whole lot.  
  
"S'fine."  
  
You keep your face neutral. You didn't expect your praises to be sung after all. Not by this bas—  
  
"I ain't had a proper meal in a while. Tastes good."  
  
Oh. That catches you off-guard, and you can feel your lips curling into a smile. You don't get compliments often, given the fact you're alone most of the time. By choice.  
  
He spears a piece of broccoli onto his fork and examines it.  
  
"This shit ain't too great, though."  
  
And the mood is ruined.  
  
"What were you going to say?" You choose to change the subject rather than hear him complain about vegetables like a six year old.  
  
"Oh, uh..." He looks a little nervous. "I was gonna ask how long I been here. Like, hours? Days?"  
  
"That makes sense." You say, thinking it over for a moment. "I would say... around thirty hours. So a day and a quarter."  
  
"Damn." He mutters. "I was out of it for a while, huh?"  
  
You nod in response. He slumps back, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"You can take a shower if you want."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
You motion to his hair.  
  
"That could probably use a wash."  
  
Once again, you were rude without meaning to be. Fuck. He shoots a glare at you.  
  
"Yer charmin'."  
  
"That's me." You say, fake cheerfulness. You are highly aware of how easily and often your words hurt people. "A real swell gal."  
  
That makes him chuckle. You are getting better at defusing situations.  
  
"'Spose it wouldn't do no harm." He scratches his chin, and you notice some stubble growing in. "I take it you ain't got a razor?"  
  
"Not one meant for the face."  
  
"Shame."  
  
"I'll pick one up later on."  
  
He blinks, and turns his face to you.  
  
"What?"  
  
You frown. You don't think you said anything weird this time. What's he picking up on that you're not? Ugh, this is why you  **hate** socialising with people. There's always little things you seem to miss.  
  
"I said, I'll pick one up later on. Like... I'll buy one. At the store. In Malie City."  
  
"You..." He seems confused. You're glad not to be the only one. "You're gonna let me stay for that long?"  
  
Ah. He was expecting to be kicked out either tonight or tomorrow. You see.  
  
"The trip down the mountain is a long one, even if you have pokemon to protect you. I won't make you stay, but you can stick around for a few more days if you want. Seven to be precise." It's better to be exact.  
  
He was obviously not expecting this gesture. His jaw goes slack again, and he looks at you like you're some sort of strange alien. You're used to that look but it still makes you feel a little self-conscious.   
  
"Well, it's just a suggestion. Your wound wasn't tremendously bad but it might open up again on the trip back. Better to rest and wait until it's healed over enough for the journey." You're rambling, and you can't stop. You don't have to justify yourself. It was perfectly normal offer. Right? Right.

  
**o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**

  
  
He can't believe you're real. One minute the two of you are bantering, you insulting his hair. The next you're offering to let him stay in your home for an extended period of time. He can barely hear your words, cause he's so damn surprised.  
  
"It's just..." He interrupts you, rubbing at his undercut. "Well, I weren't expectin' it. That's all."   
  
"As I previously said, it isn't like I'm going to force you."  
  
He grins, putting his bowl down on the table. Despite complaining about the vegetables earlier, it's pretty much licked clean. It was way better than he's ever going to admit. That would be like losing.  
  
"As if you could." He brings up his arms—not high enough to strain his stomach wound—and flexes.  
  
You just stare at him, completely unimpressed. Cold.  
  
"Ouch. No need fer that, weirdo." He winces. "I know I ain't in the besta' shape right now, but you shoulda' seen me half a year ago!"  
  
"It's not your lack of muscular defintion that fails to impress me." Still cold. "It's the fact you think I would be unable to keep you here if I wished."  
  
"What." Yeah, what?  
  
"Physical strength is not all it takes to keep someone bound, you know." Uh. Okay. "You should be careful, underestimating people like that. It will get you in trouble."  
  
That hits closer to home than he'd like. He narrows his eyes, and clicks his tongue.  
  
"Didn't know you was the wisest sage in all the land." He snorts. "Shoulda' guessed it though. You _do_ live on top of a mountain. All **alone**."  
  
Okay, so maybe he put a bit more bite into that last word than needed. But you hit a sore spot.  
  
You take his bowl and pile it on top of yours, and send him a look he can't even begin to try and decipher. You really are a weirdo.  
  
"You should go take that shower after I wash up. The hot water can only go to one place at a time."  
  
He isn't shocked by that revelation. This house isn't ancient by any means, but it is still in a secluded area.  
  
Guzma waves a hand lazily, even though he knows you can't see the gesture.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, sure." His eyes are fixated on the TV screen. He'd been more interested in looking at you until this moment, but he recognised that logo.  ** _His_ ** logo.  
  
Boy is he glad this shit ain't turned up loud. He can just about make out what it says from where he is though.  
  
"—former members of the nefarious team have been seen still skulking about in Po Town. Local police chief, Nanu, says that it is most likely just teenagers with little else to do. The chief also commented that despite attempts to keep an eye on the former team's leader, he has dropped off the radar."  
  
Well. He had no idea that Nanu was keeping tabs on him. That guy is scary competent. Then again, it isn't like he's easy to miss either. Probably got informants on all the islands or something.   
  
"An interesting story, is it?"  
  
Your sudden appearance behind him gives him a slight heart attack, and he chokes on his own spit.   
  
_Real smooth, Guz._  
  
"Uh, n-nah." He manages to get out after a small coughing fit. "Just bored."  
  
"Perhaps you should go shower then. I'm done with the washing."  
  
Shit. Fuck. Balls. You're gonna watch this without him and gonna find out he was the leader of a gang and then he's definitely gonna get kicked out cause no fucker in their right mind would keep trash like him around. He's been told that enough to know it as fact.  
  
"Well, uh, see..." He fumbles, looking for an excuse,  _any_ excuse.  
  
You sit down on the couch again, quirking an eyebrow at him questioningly.  
  
"I..." _Think Guzma, think._ "I need to feed my pokemon!" _Yeah, that works._  
  
"Oh! Sorry. I, um, forgot about that." You almost look ashamed, and squirm a little. It's then he realises something he probably should've a while back. There's no pokemon around.  
  
They're usually everywhere. Constant companions. But there's nothing to suggest any kind of pokemon lives here with you.  
  
Wow. You really **are** all alone. That actually makes him feel a little bad about his words earlier.  
  
"It's fine." He says quickly. "I just, I mean, do you got any food for 'em?"  
  
"I have some of those poke bean things." You say, then get back up to make for the kitchen. He lets out the breath he'd been holding. You didn't notice the news.   
  
He makes for the remote whilst you're gone and turns the TV off. You probably won't see that as weird. Probably.  
  
"These are them, right?"  
  
He wants to know where the fuck you found so many rainbow beans. You've collected a large jar of the things. How is that even possible? He's found like three in his whole damn life.  
  
You start to fidget, and he's pretty sure it's some sorta tic.  
  
"Right, yeah, they are." He nods slowly. "It's just... those ones are a lot rarer than others."  
  
"Oh. Really? I just collect them because I find them pretty."  
  
That should sound stupid. But coming from you it's weirdly endearing. Whether it's the absolute unashamed tone of your voice, or the way you smile as you say it he doesn't know.  
  
"Yeah, well, pokemon love 'em for some reason. I'll feed 'em and you can ah... watch?" He really doesn't want you going back to the TV.  
  
"...Okay."  
  
Wow that worked. He wasn't expecting that. At all.  
  
You put the jar on the coffee table in front of the couch and go to fetch his pokeballs. When you return, you seem to have this kind of strange energy about you. Everything about you seems nervous. Except your face, which is completely straight.  
  
He figures he'll start you off slow. He brings out his Masquerain. Even people who don't like bug types are usually okay with little Masky.  
  
He watches as you watch his pokemon which is now also watching you. Just a whole lotta watching going on.  
  
Soon enough, Masky sniffs out the beans, and flits towards his owner.  
  
Guzma pulls a bean out of the jar and holds it out. The little guy gives out a cheerful chirp and starts to nibble on the offered treat. With his free hand, he gently pets the pokemon on the head.  
  
His gaze turns to you, and he notices you're observing them intently. It's like you're recording everything on a clip board or something. Makes him feel like some sort of test subject.  
  
"This guy here is Masky." He says, breaking the tension in the air. "He's cute, ain't he?"  
  
After a moment's hesitation, you nod.  
  
"Yes. He seems rather harmless."  
  
That's not what he said but sure.  
  
"Weren't you the one tellin' me not underestimate somethin' cause it don't seem physically strong?"  
  
Your mouth opens and closes, like a Goldeen. It makes him snicker.  
  
"I... Yes. I apologise." You murmur, looking embarrassed. And that marks the first time he's seen you blush.  
  
_Good look for her_.  
  
Well. That was an unusual thought. Let's just brush that off to the side.  
  
"He is. Um, cute, that is."  
  
_Heh, he ain't the only one._  
  
OKAY that has to stop now please and thank you. No more thinking that sort of thing. Ever.  
  
"You can pet him if you'd like. Promise he don't bite. Can't say that for the rest of 'em."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
He can't help but chuckle at the doubtful look you give him.  
  
"I promised, didn't I?"  
  
"Forgive me if I don't exactly trust every word out of your mouth."  
  
Arceus, do you know how to burn someone without meaning to. If you knew about Team Skull he'd probably be a lot more offended by that remark. It still stings, but he can deal with knowing it's more about the fact he's a stranger than his past.  
  
"Yeah, well, he's almost done eatin'. Now'd be the best time."  
  
He watches as you tentatively step closer and reach out a hand. You flinch back as your fingers come into contact with the pokemon, but quickly regain your confidence and begin to stroke the creature's head. It makes a small content noise and finishes off the bean.  
  
Guzma recalls him back into the ball. He'd like to keep his crew out, but he ain't looking to push his luck. It's obvious you aren't in any way comfortable with them.  
  
"I doubt yer gonna wanna see Podders again so ya might wanna go uh... read? Or somethin'?"  
  
"Yes perhaps I should do... something. When you're done, please tell me. And then take a shower."  
  
"Geez, I got it already." He groans. "Thanks  _mom_."  
  
The glower you send his way could melt through steel. You really do remind him of her at times, though it's also clear you're very, **very** different people. She was never this... understanding.  
  
You slip into your room, and he brings out the rest of them. One at a time. Otherwise, they might get rowdy and wreck your stuff. He's not so much of an asshole he'd let something like that happen.  
  
Of course, Golisopod has to have three beans before he's satisfied. Scizor, Ariados and Pinsir all get two. That about half the jar gone, much to his regret. Rainbow beans really are rare, and he feels a little ashamed you're wasting them 'cause he fucked up. If only he hadn't gone off alone. It was a stupid idea, and he even knew it at the time. But he couldn't bring himself to care.  
  
No time to wallow on shit like that right now. He can do it in the shower, like normal people. He knocks on your bedroom door and tell you he's done with his pokemon and is heading for the bathroom. And that you'd better not peep, even though he understands the urge.  
  
The audible bark of laughter you let out from behind the door makes him pout. He isn't  _that_ bad-looking. Then again, his gross ass hasn't washed properly in about five days and he needs to shave. Thinking about it like that, he's surprised you didn't tell him he smelled like shit or anything. You don't seem the type to hold back for the sake of somebody's feelings.  
  
Eh, whatever, he can ponder this kinda shit in there.  
  
It's certainly going to be an interesting week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have to name his pokemon or its gonna drive me mad. idk why i just feel the compulsive need to nickname them or it feels /wrong/. guzma aint the type to just call them by their actual names. i love this dumb bug boy. 
> 
> ALSO IDK WHETHER TO PUT THE ACCENT ON THE E IN POKEMON AND ITS DRIVING ME UP THE BLOODY WALL SO CAN Y'ALL DECIDE FOR ME THNX


	3. Getting Used to Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN A WHILE HUH
> 
> sorry i got caught up with other stuff lol. my brain has been mush for a bit and i couldnt write my best so i thought it better to wait it out. i hope this chapter is worth the wait!! and if it aint i apologise in advance
> 
> this is a slow burn fic i guess??? dont come here lookin for a mad busy plot yo. this is pure and simple about two idiots learning to tolerate each other. and eventually more than that ;)))))
> 
> but for now take this sorry excuse of two weirdoes trying to get along and failing

The shower doesn't take too long. Half an hour, at the most. Guzma takes care washing around the stomach wound. He's not about to put you out even more than he already has.  
  
He briefly contemplates using one of your razors, but eventually decides against it. He trusts that you meant what you said. Which is probably stupid, given his track record for trusting people who randomly help him out. But whatever. He can't be bothered to fight against this kinda shit. It's gotta be fate or something.  
  
Plus, he remembers your earlier comment about them 'not being for faces'. He doesn't wanna find out what that means.  
  
After stepping out and drying off, he realises he has no idea how to put this bandage stuff back on. Great. Now he's gonna have to deal with you touching him again.  
  
He misses the days where he'd be okay with a pretty girl doing something like that.  
  
_Wait. Pretty?_  
  
He shakes the thought off. Not like he's got any sorta type anyways. Anyone'd seem pretty compared to his scruffy ass.  
  
Guzma gets back into his pants, because as funny as it would be to see your reaction to him busting in just wearing a towel, he doesn't wanna get kicked out into the cold. He's got plenty of time to fuck this up, no need to do it so soon.  
  
After alerting you to the fact he's gonna need some help, he enters your room. Once again, he notices the lack of decoration. It's weirdly unsettling.  
  
Maybe you're new to Alola? That'd make sense, considering your range of knowledge. He knows you said you were a recluse, but he's fairly sure that was a joke. Right? Right.  
  
With what he assumes is an irritated sigh, you start to patch him up again. Anger sparks up in his chest like a fire. How  **dare** you be annoyed? You're the one who brought him here. He didn't fucking ask for this stupid shit.  
  
Guilt washes it away. He's so awful. Makes you do so much, then gets pissed when you show the slightest sign of irritation. God, he's the  _worst_. He wonders how anyone could've ever followed him as a leader.  
  
He resists the urge to fist his hair in his hands. He ain't about to give you any more reason to be pissed off.  
  
"There." You say, pinning the bandages back in place. "I suppose I should've thought about this before I changed them. Oh well, it doesn't matter." You shake your head, and rise up from your knees.  
  
He's glad he was too busy in his self-loathing to note that you were just about dick-height as you did all that. Would've gotten awkward fast.  
  
"Uh, yeah, thanks." He mumbles.  
  
You stretch upwards, and offer a small smile.  
  
"No problem. You should probably stay in here anyway. Get some more rest."  
  
"But I barely been awake!" He huffs. "I can last more than two hours, ya know."  
  
"First of all, it's been about three hours." You correct, putting your hands on your hips. "Secondly, might want to tone down the innuendo fuel there. Could give someone the wrong idea."  
  
He furrows his brow. What?  
  
Oh.  
  
**OH.**  
  
Well. He hadn't expected that. Not from you, anyways. You didn't strike him as the flirty type.  
  
Is this even flirting? You're not smirking, or making any sort of decipherable expression. Just got a slightly raised eyebrow.  
   
Ugh. Arceus, you're infuriating. He hates how you seem to be able to read him like an open book. Meanwhile, you're like a fucking locked-up diary.  
  
You sniff the air, and then pull a face. Well,  _that_ one he knows.   
  
Surprise covers your features, and you tilt your head whilst looking at him.  
  
"Did you use my berry shampoo?"  
  
"That's what's got you makin' a face like that?"  
  
You pause, then shrug.  
  
"It's just... I guess I didn't expect it? You do not seem a berry type of person."  
  
"Yer the one that told me to wash my damn hair."  
  
"I have more than one shampoo, you know."  
  
He did not. Berry wouldn't have been his first choice. Not like he hates it either though. He's just convinced that with his luck, the moment he sets foot outside that door a wild pokemon will be attracted and attack.  
  
"Ain't like I can rewind time. Why'd ya bother mentioning it?"  
  
Suddenly, your entire manner changes. It's so abrupt that even he notices it.   
  
You fold your arms across your chest, and look away. Your eyes dart about nervously, but you quickly regain control of the reflex.  
  
"It's... small talk?"  
  
You sound like you're uncertain about that.  
  
"Weirdo."  
  
Like the other times, it was meant playfully. A little prodding, but not enough to make you mad. Something seems off this time though.  
  
He watches as your eyes widen—which he wouldn't have seen if he hadn't been paying close attention—and then your face goes blank. This time he knows it's on purpose. To mask whatever should've been there.  
  
"Yes, I am aware." You say sharply.  
  
He shrinks. You sound like her again. Look the part too. She was good at making that carefully neutral face. To keep people from knowing what she was truly like.  
  
Guzma had ignored the warnings back then. That she was no better than any other person. That she was just using him. A means to an end. He wanted to be acknowledged so badly he just let her walk all over him. He knew what was behind that facade. It wasn't pretty.   
  
And yet, he let it go on.  
  
Not this time.  
  
He rises up to his full height from the bed, and stares down at you.  
  
You don't even blink.  
  
Fuck.  
  
All he's got is intimidation. He can't even use that to his advantage.  
  
"...You're tall."  
  
He's the one who blinks.  
  
"Yer just noticin' that _now_?"  
  
"Well, no, I obviously noticed much earlier. Like when I had to drag you back here. It was not easy to carry someone of your stature."  
  
He snorts at the image. Half-draped over you, legs dragging in the snow. Reminds him of all the times Plumes had to carry his drunk ass back to whatever shithole they were staying in together. Good memories.  
  
"Glad to know ya ain't blind at least." He mirrors your pose, hands on hips, and gives you a crooked grin. "Thought ya might be, since ya ain't yet commented on how incredibly handsome I clearly am."  
  
You laugh. It's not a snort or a snicker. An unguarded, sincere little bout of laughter.  
  
How long's it been since someone laughed like that 'cause of him?  
  
Too long, he decides.   
  
It fades quickly, and you shake your head, a wry smile settling onto your lips.  
  
"You do so like to go on about your appearence. You're either very vain, or incredibly insecure."  
  
You **gotta** stop hitting the nail on the head with off the cuff remarks.  
  
It's his turn to put on a mask. He shoves down every negative emotion that tries to rise up because of your comment, and waggles his eyebrows.  
  
"Hey, ya didn't exactly disagree with me there. I'll take that to mean I'm yer type?"  
  
You don't laugh this time, but your smile widens.  
  
"Why yes. I love a man who can't shut up about himself, how did you know?"  
  
"All the ladies fall for it. Oldest trick in the book. Even gets some guys."  
  
For a moment, he regrets saying that. He doesn't know you, and there's some small-minded people out there in the world. You could be one of them.  
  
"Oh really? Perhaps I'll have to try it sometime."  
  
Okay, good, you're not. He didn't think so, but you can't be too careful.  
  
"But for now, we'd both better get some rest." You make your point by letting out a very visible yawn. It quickly infects him too.  
  
That was definitely on purpose. He feels super sleepy now. You're too damn clever.  
  
As you make your way to the door, he gets into the bed. He feels kinda bad for taking it for another night, but he's seen your couch now. Even if he wanted to be chivalrous and shit, he'd never fucking fit on it. He's likely to break the damn thing if on it for too long.  
  
"Night, weirdo."  
  
It's said out of habit. He's always been a nicknamer. It's a way to show affection. He'll admit, it's also sometimes a way to insult people.  
  
But not with you.  
  
Thinking you'll berate him or use that cold tone again, he winces in anticipation.  
  
Whatever he's expecting, never comes.  
  
"Goodnight, Guzma."  
  
Your voice is completely normal. Almost soft, really.   
  
He's never gonna figure you out.  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**  
  
  
After you close the door with a click, you make your way to the couch, and flop down on it with a quiet groan.  
  
This is why you stay away from people.  
  
You don't know how to be 'normal'. You don't know how to make small talk. You don't understand what other people want from you in a conversation, nor how to carry one on.   
  
_"You're tall."_  
  
You groan louder this time. No shit. You must have sounded so idiotic.   
  
Lying down now, you drape an arm over your eyes. This was a bad idea. How are you meant to interact with someone who's damn near a stranger for a whole week? The most social thing you've done since moving to this island is politely discussing current events with certain shop-keepers. And everyone does that.  
  
The way you reacted to his charming nickname the first time is also on your mind. The situation was different than the other times he said it before.  
  
It felt too familiar.  
  
You couldn't keep the disdain out of your voice. He noticed, you know that much. The cheap attempt at intimidation through physical means was not missed. It was almost cute. He must have been able to get many things in the past through such a simple tactic, considering how he took it no further.  
  
That's why you blurted that stupid thing out. An attempt to diffuse the situation, to change the mood. At least it worked.  
  
You even got to joke around again. That was fun.  
  
The second time he called you by his little moniker, it was said with more warmth. It didn't rub you the wrong way like before.  
  
Examining and dissecting intentions and emotions is exactly why you hate being around people. You have to do it, or else you could take things in a way they're not meant. People do that to you all the time. It's annoying. It's not like you're trying to be mean or standoffish. It just comes out that way, apparently. You've been told it enough times.  
  
With a sigh, you lift yourself back up. Best to get changed for bed now.  
  
You've chosen to keep sets of clothes out here in order to make sure you don't disturb your house-guest. It's definitely _not_ an attempt to limit all possibility of having to talk to him.  
  
Okay so it is. So what? It's logical. After this week, he'll be gone and you'll go back to being alone again. As fate intended. No point in allowing him to form an attachment. As if that were possible anyway. You probably get on his nerves most of the time.  
  
It's not as if you care. He's just some guy who you saved from probable death and took care of when he was helpless. Absolutely no way could that have made you feel anything for him. You're a stone cold bitch after all. According to various people. And hey, the masses can't be wrong, can they?  
  
Now clad in pajamas, you pull a blanket out from a shelf drawer, and settle down for the night. This sofa really wasn't made with sleeping in mind. It's comfy when you're sitting, but lying on it is another story.  
  
It doesn't help that you have to screwyour body up into a ball. You're not as tall as Guzma, but it's in no way long enough for you to stretch out.  
  
You recall earlier, when you were petting that pokemon of his. Masky, he called it. You don't own any yourself. You never have. That part of you is definitely weird. Especially here, where you've noticed people seem especially close to them.  
  
It's not that you're afraid of them. Not really. You're just not used to be around the creatures.  
  
If anything, you prefer them to humans. They're easier to figure out. They abide by patterns; by rules. People do not. They're unpredictable and fickle.  
  
You just aren't sure you could take care of one. Organised as you are, you're pretty sure you'd forget anything that didn't have to do directly with yourself. Others have called you selfish, or self-centred. You never understood why they seemed to see it as a bad thing. Surely it's the correct way to be? To focus on oneself above others?  
  
It makes you uncomfortable to try and figure out your own feelings. Attempts to do so in the past have resulted in you being even more confused. Does everyone else have an opinion of themselves? Do they understand what they're like? Is that 'normal'?  
  
With a tired sigh, you force yourself to put these thoughts at bay. Rest. Get some rest. Tomorrow, you're heading to the store. That's going to take a lot out of you. A trip down the mountain, to Malie city, back up the mountain, PLUS having to talk to people? Need at least nine hours for that.  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o  
  
  
** Nine hours. What a joke. You're pretty sure you got to sleep at about one in the morning, and it's six-fifteen now. Wonderful. **  
  
** You never realised how well-insulated your room is. Sleeping on the couch for the past couple of nights has given you a new appreciation for it.  
  
A shiver runs through your body. Great, now you have to pick up a thicker blanket at the store too.  
  
You realise, with great resignation, you're going to have to hire some pokemon to help you carry what you need back up. Since he interrupted your plans two days ago now, you need to get even more supplies. Just in case a bad storm hits.   
  
This is one of those times where you wish you did have a pokemon of your own. But you've gone so long without that it would feel weird to get one now. Plus, you would have to spend more money. And live with it. And people might approach you to pet it or something.  
  
The thought sends a punch of anxiety straight to your gut. Absolutely not. You can handle talking to people who are doing you a service, but random strangers from the street? Not in a thousand years.  
  
Guzma is different. You didn't have much choice other than 'take him in or let him die'. Which is barely a choice to begin with. Although that angry little side of you says you chose wrong. He's not your obligation. Plus he's the reason you're not in your bed, all snuggled up and warm. Bastard.  
  
Empathy is a real piece of shit. It's evolutionary purpose makes sense. But only if you're a human who likes other humans and wants to be near them. It's useless for someone like you. Just gets in the way.  
  
Coming to terms with the fact you aren't getting back to sleep, you force yourself to get up and go to the toilet. You're going to use it and then shower. You don't care if you wake him up.  
  
Which is evidently what happens when you hear a loud groan as you're washing your hair.   
  
Your mind flits between thinking _glad I'_ _m not the only one suffering_ and  _ugh great now I have to deal with him_ _.  
  
_ You ignore the small part that feels guilty. This is your house, dammit. You're not going to tiptoe around.  
  
As you're towelling off your hair, the handle of the door rattles. Thank the Tapu you remembered to lock it. You never do usually, since you live alone.  
  
"Busy in here. You can wait your turn." You say, returning to drying the rest of your body.  
  
"Need a piss." Comes his poignant reply.  
  
"You're a big boy, you can hold it in."  
  
"Wouldn't have to, if _someone_ didn't wake me up."  
  
You ignore his attempt to rile you up.  
  
"I'll be done when I'm done. Go drink some milk or something, since you're being such a child."  
  
Yeah, so, maybe you couldn't ignore it completely.  
  
You hear what sounds like a growl, then he stomps off. He really is like a grumpy kid. As if you needed any further incentive not to have children.  
  
It takes another ten minutes to completely dry and dress yourself. You definitely could have been done quicker, but you took your time. Since he insisted on being annoying.  
  
The moment you leave he's in there, moving faster than he should with his injury.  
  
"You open that wound and you can change the bandages yourself!" You yell.  
  
He offers no reply this time and you focus on making breakfast. For yourself. Even in his condition he can pour a bowl of cereal if he wants it.  
  
You seat yourself back on the couch, and flick through the channels of the TV. There's nothing good on this early. The store doesn't open until ten. It's the weekend.  
  
It takes an around hour and half to get there, so you'd be stuck meandering about for nearly two hours. That's so not worth it. People might start to look at you or something.   
  
The library does seem interesting but you don't want any locals to start recognising your face. They might try and start conversations and become interested in you. Nope. No thanks, don't need any of that in your life. You're as done as can be with the human race.  
  
Guzma startles you by suddenly sitting on the other end of the couch. He's put his shirt on at last, probably due to the cold. He's also currently side-eyeing you.  
  
"Is there a problem?"  
  
He flinches when you confront him. Did he think he was being subtle? That's adorable.  
  
"Maybe there is. You were in there awfully long fer how wet yer hair still is."  
  
He looks proud of his observation. As if he's a detective. Really, so adorable.  
  
You turn your focus back to the TV and slowly eat a spoonful of cereal. Two can play this game.  
  
"I was? Sorry, I suppose I was busy wondering how you got such an  _interesting_ injury."  
  
His skin visibly pales.  
  
"I would really like to know what happened to you."  
  
He attempts to look nonchalant, but the effect is ruined by the way his fingers start to drum along the arm of the settee. A common tic of someone who is nervous.  
  
"Was nothin' really." He starts, stopping the drumming by resting his head on his hand. "Got careless. Ran into a Sneasel. Little fucker got me pretty good."  
  
"Really?" You let your disbelief coat your tone. "That's what happened?"  
  
You notice how he narrows his eyes, and shifts his body to face you a little.  
  
"What's that 'sposed to mean? Don't believe me or somethin'?"  
  
You eat another spoonful of cereal, and hum softly.  
  
"To be frank, no, I don't. It doesn't bode well that you would lie about this either." You place the bowl onto the small coffee table in front of you. "You are clearly hiding something."  
  
He blanches. His arm slams down and grips the couch arm, fingers whitening from the force he uses. If he breaks that, he's definitely paying for a new one.  
  
"I ain't hidin' shit!" He hisses, making it even more obvious that you are correct.  
  
"Of course not." You roll your eyes. "That's why you're getting so upset about it."  
  
"Anyone'd get upset 'bout bein' accused!"  
  
"Perhaps. But not this much." You keep your voice as calm as possible. People prone to angering easily are more receptive to those who are able to remain composed. Getting into a shouting contest would do nothing.  
  
He scowls, and forms a fist with his now-pale fingers. Maybe you should be afraid. This is a strange man, who is clearly lying about something very important, that you just found randomly passed out in the snow.  
  
"Ya got no proof of anythin'."  
  
You quirk an eyebrow and turn your entire body to face him head-on. Legs crossed, arms folded.  
  
"Your wound is inconsistent with an injury made by claws." You state. "It would be messier. More torn or ripped looking. No, this kind of laceration would be caused by a clean slashing motion."  
  
You flick your wrist as a demonstration. Guzma looks... afraid? His hand moves over where the cut is, clutching the shirt. Maybe you're going too far.  
  
No. No you deserve to know the truth. The entirety of it. You've figured out a few basic details by yourself.  
  
"It would have to have been made by an extremely smooth and sharp object. Like a knife."  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut. You feel as if your point has been made.  
  
"...How long've ya known?"  
  
"From the moment I took you in."  
  
He lets out a small laugh, though it's devoid of any humour.  
  
"Ya sure are perceptive." He's avoiding eye contact, leaning forwards and resting his arms on his knees. "'Spose I shouldn't've even bothered to try lying. Was never gonna work on ya."  
  
He's defeated. You've won. Doesn't feel like a victory though.  
  
You fidget uncomfortably.  
  
"So someone attacked you?"  
  
Another empty laugh.  
  
"Yep. Sure yer real glad to be housin' a criminal."  
  
You frown.  
  
"Criminal?"  
  
He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair.  
  
"Y'all already know so much. Ain't no point hidin' stuff."  
  
Your stomach twists. A cold feeling settles at the bottom of it. Though, you notice that he seems ashamed. That somewhat alleviates your fear that he's been playing you like a fiddle this entire time. That he's a manipulative murderer or something.  
  
"You ever hear anythin' 'bout Team Skull?"  
  
Well, that isn't what you were expecting.  
  
"Only... only a little." You admit, your apprehension clear. "I've never really paid much attention to such things. I just know they broke up a few months ago, and that before that they made trouble by attempting to steal pokemon and causing minor property damage."  
  
"Yeah." He swallows nervously, eyes finally flicking toward you. "You uh... you ain't heard nothin' 'bout their leader?"  
  
"I don't believe so." You pause, and then tilt your head.   
  
"Are you sayin-"  
  
"I am."  
  
Oh. That is not what you were expecting. Not that you actually know  **what** you were expecting. But it wasn't that.  
  
But now it makes sense.  
  
"That's why you were confused when I didn't recognise you."  
  
He shifts, long legs nearly bumping yours, and rubs at his undercut. A prominent tic.  
  
"Ain't many round here who don't know my face." It's said in a way that resembles the structure of a joke, but with none of the playfulness. "Ya could say I'm a real celebrity."  
  
"...Is that all?"  
  
Your words clearly throw him off, if the expression on his face is anything to go by.  
  
"Wha... Whaddya mean, 'is that all'? I just told ya I'm the former leader of a gang!"  
  
"It's just..." You squirm, feeling like this is maybe not normal people say. "I was expecting something... worse? I can understand why some people would be angry, but to assault you with a weapon is..."  
  
His gaze doesn't help. He's looking at you incredulously, eyes wide and mouth agape.  
  
"I-It just seems like, um, overkill? Well, no, that's too light of a word. If I hadn't have found you, you would have died! That is definitely disproportionate to your actual crimes!"  
  
And then he laughs. This is getting weird. It's not even that humourless laugh from before.  
  
"Amazin'!" He manages through a wheeze of laughter. "All last night I was frettin' over this, and yer just acceptin' it like I told ya the fuckin' sky's blue!"  
  
"You were?" It's your turn to be confused. "You are better at hiding things than I gave you credit for. Well, certain things at least. I never would have guessed this."  
  
He slumps back on the couch, sending a grin your way.  
  
"Never underestimate ya boy." He chuckles, and you feel as if there's a joke you're missing out on. "But man, ya can't be serious? You don't even care a little?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
You pause, thinking about it. Compared to other scenarios you'd cooked up, this is rather tame. You'd be more worried if you'd heard of Team Skull doing anything that seemed truly dangerous, like drug trafficking or something actual gangs do. You'd heard it was comprised mostly of young people too. Heard some old men complaining about how they should just 'get a job' and 'do something sensible with their lives'. As if it's that easy.  
  
"I don't mean to insult you, but it's not that impressive."  
  
You enjoy seeing that grin of his slip into a pout a little too much.  
  
"I mean, not only are you the  _former_ leader, but from what I hear you were little more than a babysitter for troubled kids."  
  
He glares at you. There's no actual heat behind it though.  
  
"Oh yeah? And how old does that make you?"  
  
"Why don't you guess?"  
  
"Uh..." He blinks, not expecting that response. "I don't know, twenty-five?"  
  
"Not quite."  
  
"Twenty-six?"  
  
Huh. Interesting.  
  
"You chose to go higher."  
  
"Yeah???" The befuddled look on his face must be seen to be believed.  
  
"Most would choose to go lower, to avoid offending someone. Especially a woman."  
  
You're not offended in any way. You just find it unusual.  
  
"I guess so?"  
  
"Hm. Perhaps you simply prefer older women?"  
  
You make your tone as light and teasing as possible, but for an instant a dark look crosses his face. It vanishes before you can properly inspect it.  
  
"I was joking." You clarify. "I have no way of knowing your age."  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**  
  
  
He knows. He knows it's just a joke. You just keep managing to hit all his weak points. It's super effective.  
  
This ain't the time for dumb puns. There's a silence that's stretching on too long. So he brings it back to the previous topic.  
  
"Yer just gonna... accept it?"  _Accept me_ _?_ "Just like that?"  
  
Guzma watches your face scrunch up, as if smelling something unpleasant.  
  
"I don't condone what you did. But it was hardly anything big. From what I hear, your success rate was less than exceptional as well."  
  
"Hey!" He points at you accusingly. "I managed to take over an entire town."  
  
"Po Town I assume? People have mentioned it in passing. That I should keep away from it. I never found any reason to ignore their warnings."  
  
A shit-eating grin breaks out on your face.  
  
"Besides, from what I hear it was pretty much a ghost town before you got there."  
  
"Fuckin' 'only know a little' my ass." He grumbles, bouncing his left leg. It jolts the couch up and down, and he watches in amusement as you briefly lose your balance.  
  
"I swear, if you break this thing I'll fling you off this mountaintop myself."  
  
He stops. He ain't calling that bluff. You seem serious.  
  
"Fine." He lets his head roll off the back of it, and stares at the ceiling. "Still can't believe you ain't hidin' or cowerin' in fear from the big bad Guzma."  
  
You snort.  
  
"You're big, certainly, but bad?" You wave a hand dismissively. "I've seen far worse. Whoever attacked you for one."  
  
He's not gonna get used to that any time soon.  
  
"You don't think they were right? Not even a little?"  
  
You give him a stern look.  
  
"As I said earlier, I do not condone your actions, but responding to such trivial acts with violence? Stupid. Unneeded. Especially since it's all in the past. You're hardly a threat any more."  
  
Jeez, you know how to bring someone up only to shove them back down. Still, it's better than most of the things said about him.  
  
"Do you remember who did it? Or what they looked like? We could provide the police with a description if so."

He just has to laugh at that.  
  
"Oh,  _wow_ , now that's an idea!"  
  
He doesn't know what expression you're making but he can feel your eyes boring into his skull.  
  
"It is their job to respond to such an event. Regardless of personal feelings." There's a pause, then a sigh. "But I understand. People do not always act logically. I assume they've not treated you with kindness."  
  
You're taking his side on this? Unbelievable. There's gotta be a catch.  
  
"I don't exactly deserve it."  
  
He feels the couch dipping. You've moved closer. He snaps his head up to look at you.  
  
"Do you really feel like that?"  
  
It's the same almost soft tone from last night. Your face is blank, but your voice is... strange. He can't decide if it's pity, sympathy or a mixture.  
  
He also can't decide if it pisses him off or makes him feel worthless.  
  
Both. Both is good.  
  
"I led a gang." He states bluntly. "I ain't exactly a role model. Whoever the guys were that attacked me, they probably had good reason."  
  
"Guys? As in plural?"  
  
Shit. He'd meant to keep that detail to himself. Make out this was some sort of freak occurrence. One particularly mad guy.  
  
"How many, Guzma?"  
  
You're not gonna back down. He knows that.  
  
"...Four."  
  
He both sees and hears you inhale. You look... angry?  
  
"Fucking cowards."  
  
Well, that ain't what he thought you'd say.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"They're cowards. Plain and simple. Ganged up on you. It's likely they didn't mean for it to go so far, but given your height and probable strength you put up more of a fight than expected."   
  
The venom in your voice is palpable. Your expression is cold and your eyes are clouded over.   
  
"If I'm assuming right, you fled from the fight once the knife was introduced, then passed out from blood loss. They would have known that was going to happen. Even so, they left you. Four would have been more than enough to carry you to safety. To the League. But they didn't. They chose to leave you there to die.  _ **Despicable**_."  
  
The last word is nearly snarled. He's never seen you like this. Granted, he's known you about fourty hours, but still. It's such a change that he's honestly a little scared.  
  
And then it fades. It's eerie how fast you manage to put that mask on. As if nothing had happened.  
  
"Am I correct? Is that how it went?"  
  
"Uh... y-yeah. Fer the most part." He feels like hiding any of the other details would not only be dumb, but useless. You'd sniff them out. "They'd uh, actually been harassin' me fer a while."  
  
"This sort of thing occurred  _multiple_ times?"  
  
"Well, not the knife bit." He mumbles, caught off guard. No one's ever done this. Taken his side. It's new. It's  _wrong_. He's wrong. He doesn't deserve-  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"I mean, I ain't been on the island too long but uh... probably since I got here?"  
  
There is a long silence. He watches you carefully. He really can't figure you out. This morning he was ready to murder you for waking him up and purposefully pissing him off, and now you're deciding to act like he's an actual person who deserves to be treated in a decent manner.  
  
"Does this happen everywhere you go?"  
  
"...Yeah. Pretty much. Never almost died though. That's one fer the books, eh?"  
  
"Don't make light of this." Soft again. How do you switch so quick?  
  
"Listen, I told ya I deserve it." This sudden kindness is too much. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to do with it.  
  
He can handle the anger. The fear. The disappointment. He's used to all those.  
  
Kindness is... it's, its new. Not just since he became Team Skull's leader either.  
  
_Guzma, what is **wrong** with you?!_  
  
He turns his head away, staring at the light switch. There's no way you didn't catch him wincing at the memory.  
  
"That's rather a matter of opinion, don't you think?"  
  
He chuckles.  
  
"Ain't there already a consensus? The people hate me. I ain't gonna argue with 'em."  
  
At first he did. Fought their rage with his own. It only made them hate him more. Hell, he couldn't even get a bed at a pokecenter. And those places never turn anyone down.  
  
"There's no such thing as a consensus. Even if two people agree on a matter, their reasons for doing so may differ wildly. Some people will claim to hate you just because everyone else does."  
  
He doesn't get you. You're smart. You're reasonable. So why the fuck are you being like this? Why can't you just do the intelligent thing, and kick him to the curb already?  
  
"You don't know the full story."  
  
"I intend to look it up later."  
  
"Good. Then you can get to bein' like everyone else, and see me for what I am."  
  
"A man-child who'd never eaten broccoli before last night? Oh no, I'm so scared!" You fake a whimper, and dramatically fall backwards. He can feel it from the way the seats shift. "Please, spare my life Mr. Hooligan!"  
  
He tears his eyes from the light switch and glowers at you.  
  
"Hardy-fuckin'-har."  
  
"Oh come on. Stop this." You sit back up, stretching your legs out. "I said I'd read up on your 'crimes'. But whatever they are, what those people did to you is still deplorable. Surely you can't think it was okay?"  
  
At his lack of response, you frown.  
  
"Then think about it like this. Imagine yourself as someone you care for."  _Plumes, then_ _._ "Imagine then in your position. Imagine what happened to you, happening to them."  _I'd kill the bastards._ "Do you still believe that what they did would be okay?"  
  
He grits his teeth. You got a point. Much as he hates to admit it.  
  
"You are judging their actions as less harsh because of the guilt you feel over your previous behaviour. Think about it objectively. Do you truly deserve to  **die** for what you did? Because you would have. No question."  
  
"...Ya really are too fuckin' observant, ya know that?"  
  
"It comes in handy." You shrug, far too casually for the topic at hand. He's gotta bring this back down.  
  
"Hey, is it just me, or did ya admit ya care for me back then?"  
  
Ah, that sweet look of confusion. Cute as can be.  
  
"Well, ya told me to think of someone I care 'bout so don't that mean you care 'bout me?"  
  
"I..." You trail off, deep in thought.  
  
"Do you" his voice drops conspiratorially low " _like-like_ me?"  
  
He nudges your legs with his own, crooked grin back where it should be.  
  
"I promise, I won't tell anyone."  
  
He expects you to snort, to make a joke out of it, respond with scathing sarcasm.  
  
He don't expect you to  **blush.**  
  
"Absolutely not! Preposterous!"  
  
_Whoa, now_ _that's_ _a helluva a look on her._  
  
"Wha-?! S-Shut up!"  
  
Oh, shit, that was out loud. He feels a blush of his own coming on.  
  
This is not how he planned this going and yet he can't help but feel a little bit of giddy child-like glee at the fact he finally got through to you. In a good way. Not like when he called you weirdo last night.  
  
You huff and turn away like a kid, and then gasp in shock.  
  
"My cereal! Soggy! Ruined!" You point at him. "This is all your fault!"  
  
He laughs.  
  
"Maybe yer rethinkin' whether or not I deserved it, huh?"  
  
You snatch the bowl and stand up, making your way to the kitchen. He can tell you're flustered. The way the both of you can twist a mood is incredible. From talking about death to him actually considering whether or not you might 'like-like' him. What a turn of events.  
  
He can hear you mumbling to yourself about it being a 'waste of cereal' and how you gotta buy more.   
  
"Yer still plannin' to go shoppin'?"  
  
"I have things I need to get." You say curtly, in a way that would normally annoy him but is just amusing given the circumstances. "You messed up my entire weekly plans you know. Should be ashamed of yourself."  
  
Ah, the joking's back. A guy could get used to this.  
  
"I'm so very sorry." He says mournfully, the effect lost as he looks at you upside-down from the back of the couch. "How will I ever repay ya?"  
  
"Hmph." You turn around and eye him up. "Maybe by literally repaying me?"  
  
"If ya like cheques that bounce, then sure."  
  
He doesn't miss the tiny smile that twitches onto your lips.  
  
"Or with your body."  
  
His eyes go wide. No way are you actually suggesting he-  
  
"I could use a hand carrying the shopping back."  
  
Oh. That makes more sense. That  **had** to be on purpose though.  
  
Wait.  
  
"Ya want me to go to the store with ya? Even after all I said?"  
  
"Ah. Are you scared? That's understandable. I wouldn't much like to go out after what happened either."  
  
You're worried about  _him_. Not about being seen with him.  
  
"Yer priorities are twisted."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
He sighs, because this is the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"Ya should be worried about yer own reputation. Not about me or whatever. Being seen with a former gang leader won't exactly do ya any favours."  
  
He brings his head back up, rolling his neck. A person can only look upside down for so long.  
  
"Guzma." The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine. Both authoritative and gentle. He didn't know that was possible. "Do you really think I'd be more concerned about my reputation than your safety?"  
  
"Well... yeah?" He scratches at his stubble. "I mean, most people would be."  
  
"Then they're idiots." You say it plainly, as if it's just a fact. "Besides, it's not like I have any reputation to ruin. No one knows me. I thought I told you."  
  
Okay. So you weren't kidding about the recluse thing then.   
  
"And they never will, if ya show up holding hands with me."  
  
"Good. If anything that would further serve my purposes." Has he mentioned he doesn't get you? "So if you're refusing to try and 'save' me or whatever, don't bother. I won't make you come, but don't stay here for my sake."  
  
There's a silence again, as he tries to figure out what to say. Honestly he's not thrilled about going outside, and his wound didn't magically heal overnight.  
  
"I'm not sure I'd be much help..." He traces his fingers over it through the thin cloth of his shirt.  
  
"Well, when I said your body, I meant it figuratively. I was thinking more of asking your Golisopod for a hand."  
  
Ah. That makes sense.  
  
"Well, ya don't really need me then, right?"  
  
You cough, and he can hear you fidgeting about.  
  
"I would prefer that you were there to... control him."  
  
Yeah, that also makes sense. Even if you weren't nervous around pokemon, it'd be best if he was there. He just kinda wanted to find a way out anyways. Because—and he'd never fucking admit it—he's a little afraid of running into those guys. Just a tiny bit.  
  
"Right, yeah, sure." He nods, looking at the TV at last. It's been on mute this whole time. Some shitty show about cooking or something.  
  
"Then it's settled. We should get going soon, to get it over with."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
He'd prefer it were at night with less people but he can't be bothered to argue about it.  
  
"And Guzma?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Heh.  
  
A guy really could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG AND I AM SORRY. i just. i dont have any words
> 
> hopefully i didnt bore the shit out of everyone reading this and u all liked it and stuff. it's so hard to write from different perspectives and not constantly trying to explain why they're acting the way they are and ughghghghh. but its also fun so im not stopping now.
> 
> thanks to anyone who likes and comments and reads!!! because god knows y'all must be some tolerant people. i mean lord.
> 
> seeya later folks


	4. Bitter Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAOOOOO OH MY GOD I AM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT JFC I BETTER EXPLAIN
> 
> those of u who dont read my other fic (which is probs most of u) wont know that my housing situation is less than stable right now. i was kicked out of my house which ive lived in since i was literally born so that was. tough. yeah.
> 
> anyways this new place im in i might be getting kicked out of too so i have to deal with that as well. which is. fun. a Good Time. so yeah updates on everything will be sporadic as ive got a lotta shit to deal with!!! sorry about that lol but life just loves to kick me in the genitals :')
> 
> yall dont wanna hear me being salty tho yall here for that sweet sweet guzman times. i hope this chapter is okay and thanks to everyone for being patient and still leaving kudos and comments and shit!! you guys are amazing
> 
> enjoy!!!!

You don't make it two steps outside before Guzma starts complaining.  
  
"Why'd ya have to live on the top of a fuckin' mountain?" He grumbles, tugging the zipper of his jacket and up and pulling his hood over his head.  
  
"Simple." You say, as you twist your keys in the lock. "To avoid having to interact with idiots like you."  
  
He clicks his tongue and scowls at you. In return you smile in a saccharine manner, batting your eyelashes.  
  
"What a face to make at an innocent young lady, such as myself."  
  
"Tch. Innocent my ass." He folds his arms across his chest and shivers. "You know way too much about wounds."  
  
"Still sore that I outsmarted you, Mr. Big Bad Gang Leader?"  
  
"Leave the nicknames to me, weirdo."  
  
Satisfied that the door to your home is locked, you turn around and begin to make your way down to civilisation. Blergh.  
  
Evidently, Guzma is not as accustomed to walking in the snow as you are. He's several lengths behind, making grunting noises that demonstrate a great amount of effort to try and catch up to you.  
  
You suppose it would be the kind thing to wait for him. Seeing how he's still injured and all.  
  
Too bad you're not very kind.  
  
"Having trouble, big boy?" You call back to him.  
  
He's glaring at you. You can tell. Call it intuition. Or a hunch. Or experience. From pissing a  _lot_ of people off. Not always on purpose.  
  
"Don't worry. The snow won't last forever. We'll be down on the paths soon enough."  
  
"Hey, that reminds me. Why ain't we usin' that elevator to get down? It's the one good thing that damn league did."  
  
"Good for some." You mutter bitterly, not caring whether or not he can hear you.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
The latter. You sigh.  
  
"In case you hadn't yet realised, I'm not exactly the most sociable person in the world." You huff. "That place is crawling with people and pokemon. And, since most of them are trainers, they always come up to try and battle you or some stupid shit like that."  
  
He chuckles, and given how close the sound is, his long legs are quickly helping to match your pace.  
  
"Guess that makes sense. Ya don't seem to be fond of any living thing."  
  
"Glad you noticed." Is your curt reply.  
  
"Though, ain't ya afraid of gettin' randomly attacked? I mean, I never saw you spray a repel or whatever."  
  
"No. I have my own methods for preventing such things."  
  
"Oh?" He says, clearly curious. "Such as?"  
  
"I steer clear of grassy areas and suspicious caves. They won't attack me if I don't pose a threat."  
  
"C'mon." You can practically hear him roll his eyes. "If it were that easy, those pokemarts wouldn't make a killin' off of sellin' stuff to keep people safe."  
  
"Does it matter? It works. That's all you need to know."  
  
You know he isn't really trying to pry. Still, the knowledge of that does nothing to stop your words from being sharp, and laced with a tinge of venom.  
  
It isn't even that big of a deal. But one question will inevitably lead to another. And another. And that one to a deeper, more personal question.  
  
He doesn't need to know your life story. No one does. It's boring, uneventful, and useless to talk about.  
  
Yeah. Right.  
  
"Damn." He mutters. "Yer colder than this mountain."  
  
"I'll stop you before you make some smart-ass comment about me being 'frigid'."  
  
"Wha?!" He splutters, indignant. "Helluva' leap to make, ya know! Jeez, was just thinkin' ya could be a little more-"  
  
"A little more what?" You hiss. "Friendly? Companionable?  _Nice_ ? No thanks."  
  
Better to let him know where he stands now. You were far too familiar this morning. He's staying a week, and then he's gone. You will never see one another again. There is no sense in him becoming comfortable and attached.  
  
Or you. Not that you would. You're smarter than that.  
  
"Wow." He snorts. "I can see why ya live all the way up here."  
  
Your eyes widen, and you're thankful he's still a step behind so he doesn't notice how your mouth opens in shock.  
  
That one  **hurt**.  
  
It shouldn't have. You've heard much worse. Things that would make that seem like a compliment.  
  
Perhaps it was the tone? You can't really tell what it was. You've never been too good at reading other people's emotions, especially not in your youth.  
  
Which is part of the reason why you've had statements far more hurtful than that directed towards you.  
  
You snap your jaw shut, and square up your shoulders. You refuse to let any sign of weakness show. Especially not around someone you barely know.  
  
Although, you currently know more about him than your own family at this point. It's almost laughable, really.  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o  
  
  
** Something about you is different. He can't quite put his finger on it.  
  
You're definitely being way less nice to him than before. Now you're just flat-out ignoring him.  
  
Was it the last comment? You don't seem like someone who'd get worked up over something like that. You've already confessed to basically hating people.  
  
"So, where we goin' to shop anyways?"  
  
"Malie City."  
  
Your reply is as abrupt as it is baffling.  
  
"What? Why we goin' all that way? Ain't that village down by the base got a shop?"  
  
"It has."  
  
Okay. You're starting to piss him off. If he's gonna be climbing all the way down this shitty, frozen, oversized hill and then having to walk to the city—where people will definitely recognise him—there better be a damn good reason.  
  
"Then why are we goin' to-"  
  
"Clothes." You cut him off, which only serves to rile him up further. "You can't wear that for a whole week. Unless you enjoy being filthy?"  
  
"Well, no, but-"  
  
"What little selection the village has will not include anything in your size. You're a veritable giant." You sound annoyed. "And I'm fairly certain I mentioned this yesterday."  
  
Oh. Going through his recollection of last night, you did say something about the city when he mentioned razors.  
  
Okay, so, you're right and he gets it, but the way you're treating him like an idiot is definitely not helping him cool down.  
  
"What's with the pissy tone, huh?" He wishes it sounded more intimidating, but his teeth are chattering like mad. "Actin' all passive-aggressive like that."  
  
He can see your body go rigid, and in reaction his own stiffens. He knows you ~~probably~~ won't try to fight him, but he's been in this situation all too often lately.   
  
Unfortunately for Guzma, he forgot about his wound. As the muscles in his stomach tense up, he groans in pain and presses his palm to it.  
  
"Fuck." He hisses out through gritted teeth.  
  
He doesn't expect you to stop, with how you've been acting towards him. But you do. You even turn around, and raise an eyebrow in question.  
  
"It's nothin'." He mutters, forcing himself to keep walking on. He'll be damned if he's gonna get even more shit for holding you up.  
  
You walk by his side now, eyeing him up silently. If he didn't know better, he'd say you were concerned. But if you are, then it's most likely just for your shopping trip. You need him and Podders to help out.  
  
"Right." Your voice is even, clean, lacking any sort of emotion. It kinda scares him how easily you turn like that.  
  
No points for guessing who installed that particular fear into him.  
  
Not a single word passes between the two of you, until the snow begins to appear in patches; scattered about. Thank the tapu for that. His arms were pretty much about to freeze off.  
  
He's definitely getting a jacket with longer sleeves.  
  
To try and warm them back up, he rubs them with his hands. He doesn't care if he looks stupid. You clearly already think he's a moron.  
  
Then he notices you're busy yourself. You've stopped, and you're kneeling down, pulling the empty backpack you'd taken with you off and opening it. You remove your coat, and shove it inside the bag.  
  
Ah. Now he understands why you took it. If you were going to bring bags with you, you'd need more than one small backpack.  
  
"Want to take yours off too?"  
  
"Nah. Ain't outta the cold just yet."  
  
You shrug, and put it back on, marching onward.  
  
He just can't get a read on you. An offer like that proves you're at least thinking about him, but you also turn so quick whenever he tries to talk for too long.  
  
Maybe it's him. He has a knack for getting into trouble, after all. He did start up a gang. He hasn't exactly been able to practice his people skills ever since that all went up in flames. Plumes was the only one he could really do that with, and she doesn't want anything to do with him any more.  
  
He managed to fuck up the one meaningful relationship he ever had. The one that wasn't a lie.  
  
There's no time to be thinking about that right now. He shakes his head, forcing the thoughts away for another day and another drinking session. He's probably gonna have to go sober the entire time he's staying at yours, which is  **great**. He'd be able to stand the chill a lot better with a couple bottles of beer. Or, anything, really. He's not picky.  
  
It dawns on him that he has no idea where the two of you are going. Well, no, he knows you're headed for Malie City. But this isn't the usual way someone'd use to get there. Most people go by the routes, not travelling off the beaten path.  
  
Then again, this is you. That's probably the whole reason you don't take them.  
  
Guzma supposes he might be just a little impressed you can make your way down a mountain without needing help. The lengths you're willing to go to limit social interaction is almost admirable.  
  
Another twenty minutes of silence, and it starts to grate on him. It's not that he's a talkative person, but there's a tension still there, in the quiet. It's kinda awkward.  
  
"So, we gettin' close or...?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
You really don't like to make it easy for him.  
  
"Cool, cool." Smooth, real smooth. "Just wonderin'. So I can prepare myself for the judgin' stares."  
  
He purposefully forces it out to sound joking, though he's almost certain a hint of resentment crept it's way into the sentence.  
  
"...Fifteen more minutes. At the most."  
  
That's a start.  
  
"Didn't even know there were paths all the way round here."  
  
"Most people probably don't. I assume they were abandoned long ago, since no one seems to take care of them."  
  
Yeah, one look at the place confirms that. Whilst the routes all have roads that are kept neat and tidy for convenience, this way is full of fallen trees and large patches of grass that you both dodge around. But under it all, there are faint traces of an old route.  
  
"I can imagine ya were overjoyed to find 'em."  
  
"I actually used to take the regular route, if you must know. But then that league set up. The elevator might be a handy thing, but it's no use to me if I have to share it with six strangers who want to take on the challenge."  
  
"You'd probably bite their heads off if they tried to make small talk."  
  
Ooooh shit. That was not the smartest thing he could've said, considering your current situation.  
  
The glare you send his way is positively bone-chilling. And he'd just gotten back to a normal temperature too.  
  
He holds up his hands in a defensive way.  
  
"Take it easy, yeah? Not like I meant to offend ya."  
  
For some reason, that makes your face soften. The glare is replaced by a look of... well, he doesn't exactly know what.  
  
"Whatever. Best get ready. We'll be on Route Ten soon enough. Then it's barely a two minute walk."  
  
So, from what he can remember about the area, you basically led him down the back of Mount Lanakila, bypassing going past that desert and the small trailer park Plumes lives in.  
  
He's grateful for that. If she saw the two of you together, who knows what she'd do. Probably tell you not to bother with a waste of space like him.  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**  
  
  
You're almost there. You have to get into your 'friendly but not friendly enough for people care' mindset. Mind-numbing politeness is what's needed. A small smile here and there.  
  
Guzma is most likely going to make that a little harder, considering his reputation among the general population.  
  
"Ya know, people're probably gonna talk if they see us together."  
  
Seems like he's reading your mind.  
  
You spare a glance his way, expecting his expression to be a cocky grin. That sentence was obviously meant to infer something different than what you were thinking.  
  
But it's not. It's unease.   
  
Is he seriously worried that people might think less of you for being around him? That won't do.  
  
"Let them." You say simply. "If you're as feared and hated as you claim, then it just means they won't bother me. Which is absolutely a-okay with me. If anything, you're doing me a favour."  
  
His face twists and he gives you a puzzled look.  
  
"You sure 'bout this?"  
  
"As I said before, if you don't want to come into town because you don't want to face them, that's fine with me. But don't stay behind because you might tarnish whatever reputation I have. I doubt they'll stop serving me altogether because I was seen with you once in my life."  
  
"Right." He laughs, and it's obviously nervous.  
  
"Believe me Guzma, if I cared, you would know about it by now."  
  
He appears to see the truth in your words, because his face relaxes and he nods. Though you do notice the way he runs his hand through his hand, tugging it through the mess of white locks. It is becoming apparent he has a few tics. Messing with his hair is one of them.  
  
The city is the same as the last time you saw it. Filled with other humans.   
  
Though it seems Guzma wasn't completely exaggerating, as a few of them do stop and stare at the two of you.  
  
It's strange how he shrinks under their eyes. He's so big and likes to act so intimidating, but there's a timidness to him. You realise why he kept his jacket on, even when the two of you made it off the mountain. The hood helps to conceal his identity, if only a little.  
  
"I was thinking we'd go get you something to wear first. Then, if you don't want to come into the other shops with me, you can wait in the library or something."  
  
He grunts in what you take to be an affirmation of your plan, and so head towards the clothing store.  
  
You notice how he sticks almost uncomfortably close to you in public. Like you'll be able to shield him from their view or something. It's an amusing thought, given the man's over six foot tall.  
  
You enter the store with him in tow, exchanging a greeting with one of the clerks. Her eyes immediately pass from you to your behemoth of a companion. They widen in what could be surprise, fear, or a mixture of both. Her eyes flick between the two of you, eyebrows raising so high they might fly off of her face.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Guzma refuses to look at or even acknowledge her presence, focusing on you and you alone.  
  
"Whilst I'm flattered by the attention honey, I believe we're here to pick out some stuff for you?"  
  
Grey eyes blink rapidly, you assume at the little pet name you gave him, and his gaze snaps a nearby clothing rack. Examining him closely reveals there's a faint flush spreading across his cheeks.  
  
"Honey?" He whispers with a hint of a hiss to his voice.  
  
You crack a grin.  
  
"Hey, if they're going to presume things about us anyway, might as well add fuel to the fire."  
  
He mumbles something that you can't make out, looking through the rack and pulling out a couple of items.  
  
"Changing rooms are over there." You point towards the back of the store and he quickly stalks over there.  
  
Once he's inside and the curtain is closed, the clerk from earlier approaches you. She's clearly anxious, but still manages to give you a tentative smile.  
  
"Hello." She chirps in a bright voice. "Are you and your... friend looking for something specific?"  
  
There's clearly more than one question in that sentence.  
  
You give your own smile, possibly more practised than her false kindness.  
  
"Not really. Though I don't suppose you have any coats in his size?"  
  
She gives a pause for thought, then nods.  
  
"I'll have a look in the back room."  
  
_Yeah, sure you will_ _._ You think to yourself.  _Totally not going back there to gossip at **all**._  
  
Just as she disappears, Guzma reappears, dressed in plain black joggers and a camouflage green t-shirt.  
  
"Such a bold choice." You deadpan.  
  
"Can it." He snaps. "I ain't lookin' to be a fuckin' model."  
  
He really doesn't want to be here, does he?  
  
"A shame. You're a good height for it."  
  
A snort of laughter escapes him. That's better. When of you gets irritated so does the other, and in public that is definitely not something you want to happen.  
  
"'Sides, I ain't 'bouta go around pickin' a buncha expensive shit you gotta pay for."  
  
You tilt your head. Is he actually thinking about something like that?  
  
"You know I don't care how much it costs, right?"  
  
"Well. Even if you don't, I do. M'not some dick who'll just take advantage of a shoppin' spree."  
  
"Honestly. For someone who claims to have been some badass gang leader, you're awfully considerate."  
  
He shushes you, and looks around conspiratorially. You roll your eyes.  
  
"I think if they're going to recognise you already, they will have."  
  
Still, he insists on making sure no one's staring at the two of you. There's a couple of cashiers on the job, and another person on the opposite of the store is browsing through a rack. None of them are looking your way.  
  
Once he's satisfied, he straights back up.  
  
"Ya ever hear of bein' subtle?"  
  
"Ah, yes. Because you just scream subtle. With your bleached hair and colossal frame. Thank Arceus you left the gold chains at home, otherwise people might talk!"  
  
"I think I liked it better when you were quiet." He mutters, rubbing at his undercut.  
  
Then, the clerk comes back, a coat in her arms. She jumps a little upon seeing Guzma at your side, and seems in far less of a rush to get back to you.  
  
"Um... I think this will fit. Maybe." She says, offering the item of clothing to you. You in turn, pass it to Guzma, who then looks at it in confusion.  
  
"You were cold." You say as a way of explanation. "I could hardly miss the shivering, honey. Thought I might as well get you this so you don't freeze to death. I know, I'm so very generous."  
  
He grunts, seemingly unwilling to talk around somebody else, and heads back into the changing room. He doesn't really need to, since it's a coat, but you think he might be too anxious to try it on around her.  
  
Speaking of the clerk, she stands by you, biting her lip. It's clear she wants to ask something.  
  
"Did you need something?"  
  
She jumps again, and you get the impression she's easily startled.  
  
"Oh, um, well, n-no not really... I just uh..." She avoids your eyes, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "I was j-just wondering how you know him?"  
  
You decide to play ignorant.  
  
"Hm? Who?"  
  
"Well, you know... Him." She looks at the changing room 'him' went into pointedly, and then back at you.  
  
"Ah. You mean Patrick."  
  
"Yes! Wait. No. Pa-Patrick?"  
  
You smile with a nod.  
  
"Patrick. My 'friend'."  
  
It is entirely too entertaining to see her face twist and contort in severe confusion.  
  
"B-But that was... I mean, he's..."  
  
"You're not the first one to mistake him for somebody else, you know."  
  
"O-Oh?"  
  
"Mhm. There were some people on the street who thought he was some man named 'Guzma'. Some former gang leader, or something."  
  
She swallows, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.  
  
"R-Really?"  
  
"I've known Patrick a number of years now. I think I'd know if he was secretly leading a gang in spare time, don't you?"  
  
"O-of course ma'am!" Her practise has gone to waste now, her smile wide and forced. "S-Sorry to bother you!"  
  
And then she's gone.   
  
And then so are you.  
  
You're a little disorientated from being dragged into the small space of changing room unexpectedly. You stumble, leaning against the wall.  
  
Normally you'd be angry, or at least annoyed. But messing with that poor woman has put you in a better mood.  
  
Guzma, however, is practically seething.  
  
"What the fuck was that?!"  
  
"It's impolite to eavesdrop on people's conversations, you know." You say in a chiding manner.  
  
No sign of amusement.  
  
"Oh, come on, you're telling me you didn't find that even a  _little_ bit funny? I'm fairly certain she almost had a meltdown."  
  
He growls, low in throat, with narrowed eyes boring into your own. It'd probably frighten other folks.  
  
"Look, this ain't some game-"  
  
"I disagree." You don't even let him finish whatever trite nonsense he was going to say. "It most definitely is. This can only benefit you, you know?"  
  
"Oh? And how's that?"  
  
"Well, think of it this way. If this gets around, people might not know whether you're Guzma or 'Patrick'. They might stop accosting you, out of the fear of accusing an innocent stranger."  
  
He seems to think about this for a minute, deciding whether or not to be mad.  
  
After a moment, he sighs.  
  
"Fine. Made ya point. 'Spose it couldn't hurt."  
  
Before you can even smile he jabs a finger at you.  
  
"However if this  **does** somehow come back to bite me in the ass, I know where ya live."  
  
"Yes, be sure to forward your hate mail to me."  
  
"That's not what I- Oh. You're joking."  
  
"And you're dumb. Good job you've got such a pretty face."  
  
Said face breaks out into a blush at your words. You hold back a snicker. He's so easy to tease, you almost feel bad for him. Almost.  
  
"So, what about the coat, hm?"  
  
"Huh? Oh. Right." He shifts, then seems to realise just how little space is between you two.  
  
"Want me to-"  
  
"Yeah." But then he has a sudden change of mind. "No! If ya leave this, and someone's out there, what're they gonna think?!"  
  
You shrug with an air of indifference.  
  
"That I helped you with something?"  
  
"W-Well, okay, yeah, they might. But they could also think of... other stuff."  
  
"Oh, good Giratina, who cares? Besides, I'm pretty sure if we were doing 'other stuff' there would be noises besides whispering."  
  
"...Ya really don't care, do you?"  
  
"Is it so hard to believe that the opinions of people I do not know, and have no intention to establish relationships with matter as little to me as the opinion of a Durant?"  
  
"Kinda? I mean, most people give a shit about what others think. Not everyone, but they at least don't wanna seem like weirdos in public."  
  
You raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Well it's a good I won't 'seem' like anything. Being an actual weirdo, and such."  
  
That coaxes a grin out of him. Crooked and loose, but far better than his frown.  
  
"Got me there, weirdo."  
  
"Then I shall take my leave." You say, before ducking out of the changing room.  
  
Once outside, you notice one of the cashiers give you an incredulous look. You simply smile and wave back at him.  
  
  
  **o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o**  
  
  
"Thanks." Guzma says gruffly, as you both exit the store. He's not entirely without manners. Not yet.  
  
"You're welcome. But, I admit, this was also for me. The thought of you having to wear the same underwear for a week disgusted me to my core."  
  
"Yeah, well, I weren't too fond'a the idea myself."  
  
"Happy to know we're on the same page."  
  
"So, what's next?"  
  
"I don't think I need anything that can't be bought in the grocery store." You say, stretching your arms upwards. "Whether or not you want to come with me is your choice."  
  
"I'll stick around, if it's all the same to ya."  
  
"A wise decision. I must confess I wouldn't know kind of razors to pick out. Not to mention toothpaste."  
  
He chuckles, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his new pants.  
  
"Plus, yer gonna need someone to push the cart."  
  
"I'm hardly going to ask the injured person do it."  
  
"Ah. Good point."  
  
He keeps forgetting about it, despite the lingering ache he gets whenever he moves too much. Maybe it's 'cause he just wants to forget about the whole thing already. Or maybe you're that good at distracting him.  
  
Practically on your heels the entire walk to the store, Guzma feels the creeping sensation of being stared at crawling it's way onto his skin. He hopes this is over and done with as quickly as possible, and that nobody gives you any shit because of him.  
  
"Hey." He says. "Why Patrick?"  
  
"What?" You reply, already focused on picking out whatever shit you need.  
  
"Why'd ya pick Patrick?"  
  
"Had a Goldeen named it once."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No." You shake your head. "I don't know. It doesn't sound like a gang leader's name? Not that names actually matter for things like that. I mean, who's ever heard of an evil guy named Steve? But I bet you there are some Steve's out there doing pretty awful things."  
  
"Ya either gimme one word answers, or entire novels. No in-between setting, is there?"  
  
"Unfortunately not, I'm afraid." You mumble, placing a couple of cans of tinned fruit into the cart. "Remind me to get food for your pokemon."  
  
"'Kay."  
  
The two of you go down two more aisles, before he feels the need to talk once again.  
  
"Ya know, I been wonderin'..."  
  
"I hate where this is going already."  
  
He chooses to ignore that little comment.  
  
"Why don't ya got a pokemon of yer own? Seems like havin' one would really help ya out, given where ya live."  
  
"I'm not sure if you know this, Guzma, but I'm not really the type for company."  
  
"I mean, duh." He snorts. "But pokemon ain't like people. They don't make ya talk or try to get ya to do stuff ya don't want to. They don't judge ya for mistakes."  
  
Your hand hovers over a bag of flour, before it's added to the cart as well.  
  
"Be that as it may, I would still need to take care of it. It would need more than just food and a quick wash every now and than. They require attention."  
  
"That's... not what I woulda expected ya to say."  
  
"Pray tell, what did you expect?"  
  
He scratches at his cheek, giving an awkward chuckle.  
  
"It's just... That's an oddly thoughtful thing for ya to think about. Considerin' the rest of yer... uh, everythin'."  
  
Great. Good job, Guzma. Way to insult the person who just paid for a buncha shit for that they didn't have to. Woo. Go team.  
  
Thankfully, you don't seem to take offence.  
  
"I merely state things as I see them. It would be cruel to take in a creature and then ignore it's very existence unless it was useful to me."  
  
Huh. Now don't that sound vaguely familiar.  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"No guessing about it. Using something that's capable of semi-cognitive thought like that is wrong."  
  
He really doesn't get how you can be so like her and so different at the same time.  
  
"What kind of cereal do you want?"  
  
The question catches him off guard.  
  
"Uh... Honey Hoopas?"  
  
And then they're in the cart too.  
  
"Wait, but, I ain't stayin' that long."  
  
"I am aware. That doesn't mean you should have to eat cereal you dislike."  
  
For someone who seems to think so little of others, you sure care a lot about the little things.  
  
"I'm more of a Crispy Combees fan myself."  
  
"Pretty sure they're a soccer team."  
  
The fact you giggle at that lame joke gives him a boost of confidence. That quickly shrivels back down once he sees a family turn and walk the other way at the mere sight of him.  
  
The shopping escape continues, and man this store  _does_ have a lot. You even managed to find a thick blanket, much to Guzma's amazement.  
  
He still feels kinda guilty putting you out like that though. Not that he has much of a choice. That couch would break if he was on it too long.  
  
"I'm going to pay for all this now, so if you want to wait outside-"  
  
"Say no more. No way I'm gettin' the evil eye from some cashier while you run this through."  
  
He makes his way out to the front of the store, and leans against the wall. He puts his hood back up, hoping to conceal his face. At least out here he won't be forced to watch was people either gawk at him like some sorta rare pokemon, or run away like he's a dangerous one.  
  
He'd bring out Podders to keep him company, but that'd probably be a bad idea. He doesn't want to bring any more attention to himself than necessary.  
  
But then, the whispers start. He's keenly aware of every sound in a public area like this. He's had to be for some time.  
  
Soft mumblings of 'is it him?' and 'no, it couldn't be' or 'how can he show his face?'  
  
All of them too cowardly to face the big bad Guzma.  
  
Which is fine by him. He ain't looking for a fight. Not any more.  
  
But it's starting to get to him. It's barely been five minutes, and he kind of wants to run away. But he can't exactly leave you high and dry. Not after all you've done for him.  
  
He's a shitty enough person as it is. No need to add to that list.  
  
Thankfully, no one has the guts to approach him when he's alone, and six minutes fourty three seconds later (yes he was counting), you exit the store.  
  
He's by your side in a flash, barely giving you space to breathe.  
  
"Ready?" He asks, tapping his food against the sidewalk impatiently.  
  
"Yes. You can bring him out."  
  
Not needing to be told twice, he lets Podders out of his pokeball and onto the street. The Golisopod looks confused for a second, but quickly adjusts.  
  
"Hey Podders. Need a favour. Can you help us carry this shit back to her house?"  
  
The pokemon chirps in agreement.  
  
"He says yeah." Guzma translates for you, noticing the puzzled expression you're wearing.  
  
"Right. Yes. Um." It's weird seeing you flustered. "How is he going to carry it, exactly?"  
  
"Ya can tie the bags around his upper arms. They won't be able to slide off, 'cause of the plates on his uh... hands."  
  
"Of course. That makes sense." You grab a bag, and then pause. "Uh. Maybe you should, ah, take care of this."  
  
You hold said bag out to him, and he takes it.  
  
"He won't bite, ya know." Guzma mumbles, before doing exactly what he'd instructed you to.  
  
"That is a fact I'd rather not put to the test."  
  
"Whatever floats ya boat." He replies, tying another bag around the other arm. "He can probably take one more on each, so give him the heaviest ones."  
  
Podders makes an irritated clicking sound, folding his smaller arms against his chest.  
  
"Hey, she's puttin' us up free of charge. Least we can do is help out."   
  
"Tell him I'll give him some of those rainbow poke beans he seemed to like."  
  
Unlike you, Podders doesn't need a translator. He whirls around to face you, making excited chirruping sounds.  
  
Guzma can't help but snicker at the sight of your face paling.  
  
"He's just sayin' he accepts, ya know."  
  
"Uh huh. You're sure he doesn't want to eat me?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"I suppose I have no choice but to trust you."  
  
Hesitantly, you pull a bag from the cart and lean towards Podders, fumbling a little as you carefully tie the handles of the bag around his arm.  
  
He half expects the pokemon to give you some sort of fright, since the Golisopod can be as mischievous as him sometimes. However, he seems to notice your nervousness, and stays as still as possible.  
  
"Heh. He must like ya. Didn't try to taste ya or nothin'."  
  
"You said he wouldn't!"  
  
"Yeah, but there's always the off chance he _might_. Ya never know."  
  
"Remind me never to trust you ever again." You scowl, handing him the final bag to tie around the creature's arm.  
  
"Based on my track record, it is a bad choice to make." He quips, before patting the back plates of his friend. "Guess I'll be taking the rest of tho- Oh."  
  
You've already got the other two bags on your arms, and shrug.  
  
"If that wound reopens it's gonna take forever to heal. Besides, this is hardly the first or last time I'll have to carry my own shopping back."  
  
He gently places a hand on his stomach, wincing slightly.  
  
"Yeah. Okay. Sorry."  
  
"Why are you apologising? I don't imagine it was your idea to be attacked by a group of thugs."  
  
There you go again. Making out like they're the bag guys, not him. The villains. Most people would say he had it coming to him.  
  
It's then he notices a familiar head of grey hair, along with a tattered police jacket. Thankfully the face belonging to that familiar figure is turned away from him.  
  
"We'd better get goin'." He says gruffly, motioning for the two of you to follow him.  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
If the tapu have any mercy at all, he prays they help him out now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. i know malie city isnt that big of a town. we all know. but thats in the game man. limited by an engine. lets imagine itd be bigger irl or in the anime idk if they showed it yet or whatever. SO YES THERES A GROCERY STORE THAT ISNT THE POKEMART
> 
> anyways wow. that took me less time than i thought. only four hours. and one of those was because my dumb ass didnt save a copy and google decided to be like Bye Bitch cause i havent updated it in like ten years.
> 
> i always end up not sleeping to write so im super tired now and i hope everything towards the end makes sense. ill probably go over it when im not half dead and fix any typos or whatever like i usually do.
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoyed and im off to pass out!!! arrivederci

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY FOR THE STUPID TITLE IDK WHAT ELSE TO CALL THIS BUT LANAKILA MEANS VICTORY SO YA KNOW. if anyone reads these i'll be surprised. any the whole POV switch to guzma is New and Hard so sorry if it seems a little out of place. i'll try to get better. 
> 
> also the o*O*o is totally meant to be like snow cause i'm a real cheesy little fuck. expect cliches in this okay. both subverted and not. hope y'all ready for a journey to bonding with a socially inept asshole town. cause that's literally the both of them lmao.


End file.
